


Salut des Armes

by icarus_chained



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Anxiety, Day Off, Developing Friendships, Distractions, Fencing, Fun, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Movie Reference, Research, Swords, Team Bonding, interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Assault:</b> In fencing, a friendly combat between two fencers, where score may or may not be kept, and is generally not a part of any competition.</p>
<p>Flynn interrupts Jenkins' day-off-research in the hope of a distraction, and something he's greatly missed since an old friend was taken from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salut des Armes

"... Ahem?"

Jenkins startled badly. Which might have been very unfortunate, had he actually be holding his current object of study at the time, but even as it stood made him feel reflexively bad-tempered. Sneaking up on someone in the midst of complicated and potentially deadly mystical research was _not a good plan_ , thank you ever so much.

Not that Flynn had necessarily been sneaking, he realised, looking up to find the Librarian leaning absently on the door frame and studying him in a way that suggested he might have been there for a while. In fact, Flynn might even have been waiting for an opportune and generally non-fatal moment to interrupt, which was ... unusually considerate and remarkably sensible for a Librarian. Most of them, as per the job description, tended more towards a 'rush in where angels fear to tread' style of interaction. Huh. Maybe there was a reason this one had lasted rather longer than most.

"... Yes?" he asked, reasonably politely. Well, by his standards, anyway. "Can I help you with something?"

Flynn grinned uneasily, reaching up to rub his thumb along his cheek. He had a sword in one hand, Jenkins noted. That might have been alarming on someone else but, given the sorts of things Librarians wandered around with, on Flynn it was only mildly confusing.

"I _was_ going to ask you for a favour," the Librarian said, wandering further into the room now that Jenkins wasn't actively poking anything unsafe. "I gotta ask first, though. What _are_ you doing? And isn't that a Lemarchand? Should you be touching that?"

Jenkins blinked at him, and then down at the experimental array on his workbench. Dialling back out of the experimental fugue, he had to admit that it did look more than a little worrying. Well. The object at its centre would look alarming all by itself, to anyone with even the slightest suspicion of its origins. Lemarchand puzzle boxes had that effect. Add in the spectrum analyzer, several texts in distinctly non-human scripts, one of which was bloodstained, and a partial reconstruction of the interior box layout layered with arcane annotation (mostly frequency in hertz, actually, but no less odd looking for that), and overall it probably didn't look like one of his saner experiments. He'd grant the Librarian that much at least.

"... It's not one of the bad ones," he justified, shuffling papers around a bit. "I'm not a complete idiot, thank you. This is the Poet's Configuration. It leads to one of the smaller Fae Realms. Not to be taken lightly, granted, and depending on your history with the fae quite possibly a very big mistake indeed, but it's not the automatic horror sentence some of his other work would be."

Flynn made a noise that might or might not have been agreement. "Still," he said, watching the thing cautiously. "You're not planning to open it, are you? A fae incursion in the Annex workshop might be difficult to explain to the LITs. Not to mention Eve."

Jenkins bristled at that. He couldn't help it, and probably wouldn't have even if he'd been able. He levered himself to his feet, glaring frostily at Flynn.

" _My_ Annex workshop," he pointed out, gesturing around to encompass the room and the plentiful evidence of his work here over the years. "Which was, if you recall, constructed for the express purpose of experimentation. I do actually have some experience in these matters. It is, in fact, my job. My original one, at least. Do keep that in mind?"

Flynn blinked at him, honestly startled. "O-kay," he said, backing up a step and holding up a placating hand. The one _not_ holding the sword. "Uh. Sorry? You're right. Your space. I'm just ... I've met one of these things before once. It didn't end very well. I guess I'm a little twitchy?"

Jenkins deflated. He dropped back into his chair, rubbing absently at his temples. He had a headache, he realised, and an alarming idea of what had caused it, too. A break at this point probably would be wise.

"I'm sorry," he said shortly, looking apologetically up at the Librarian. "I've spent the past three hours analysing audio spectrographs of the first three notes. There are several distinctly alien frequencies involved, even just for that opening phrase. I suspect it is beginning to affect me." 

Flynn genuinely did flinch, grimacing in the box' direction. Huh. Whichever one he'd run afoul of must have been bad indeed, to make a Librarian this nervous. 

"Okay, yes," he said, nodding rapidly. "Yes, that would do it, and maybe we should move this conversation to another room? These things are what an old friend of mine would have called bad gris-gris. Even the not-so-bad ones."

"That might be a good idea," Jenkins agreed, smiling wryly. "I could use a cup of tea, and you can explain to me what this favour is that you were going to ask for."

Flynn grinned, putting his sword up under his arm and offering Jenkins a hand up. Jenkins took it, looking askance at him a little bit. Flynn was such a twitchy Librarian, even when not under the influence of various evil artefacts. There were times when it was exhausting just looking at him. He was, nonetheless, often a breath of fresh air in more cloying circumstances.

"We can wait on that until after tea," the Librarian said, escorting Jenkins out of the room. And by 'escorting', Jenkins mostly meant 'herding'. Unobtrusively, but very pointedly. "You could tell me what you were doing, though? Audio analysis? What's that for?"

Jenkins raised an eyebrow at him. He had a certain suspicion that he was being buttered up for something, and/or distracted from the box long enough for Flynn to attempt to do something with it. Like spirit it away to the Library where errant researchers would have somewhat more difficulty accessing it, for example. But so long as the Librarian was still where he could see him, that would be a little difficult, so he didn't see any harm in playing along for now.

"I've been testing a theory that the musical tones incorporated into the boxes aren't just a side-effect or even just an entrancing glamour," he explained, heading over to the little kitchen and setting out a couple of teacups. "I think they may actually be integral to the boxes' effects. When you lock in the pieces in sequence, it creates an increasingly elaborate tune that's unique to that particular box, one that comes to completion when you finish the puzzle and successfully open the gateway. I suspect that the tones are the actual locking mechanism, a sympathetic echo of dimensional harmonics that the magic uses to guide the effect. The fact that there's a different tune for each different box suggests ..."

"... That there's a different tune for every _destination_ ," Flynn completed, nodding thoughtfully. "A dimensional map, using music as the coordinates. Completing the box provides the power, the music provides the focus, and poof, gateway to the dimension of your choice." He smiled, noting the mildly impressed expression that Jenkins couldn't quite hide in time. "Librarian, remember? We're usually not too bad at this sort of thing."

Depended on the Librarian, Jenkins thought privately, but he contented himself with only a mild: "You'd be surprised." He handed Flynn his teacup, taking his own and heading in the direction of the nearest chair. Flynn followed him willingly, propping his feet up and looking the very picture of attentiveness. Jenkins might have presumed humouring or sarcasm, but he decided paranoia was too much effort right now.

"Anyway," he went on, waving a hand absently. "I've been taking audio analyses of the initial tones of the Poet's Configuration as a translation key, and using the historical descriptions we have of the rest of the tune to try and get an idea of the harmonic progression. I'm hoping to cross-reference that against the dimensional maps we have from several other gateway artefacts to see if my theory holds water. The Poet's Configuration is actually a good choice for that, more than just being one of the less potentially _fatal_ ones. The Fae Realms are reasonably well mapped, and due to this particular box' relative popularity with artistic types, we have a number of fairly good written sources for it as well ..."

He trailed off, coughing slightly in confusion. Normally he'd have been interrupted by now. Several times, if the person he was talking to happened to be Colonel Baird or Charlene in particular, but even most Librarians had a limited tolerance for long-winded explanations. He squinted suspiciously at the current one, now almost positive there was something funny going on. Either Flynn was trying to act as a distraction, or he wanted something _very_ badly, or he was bored out of his tree and willing to take any distraction he could get. All of which were entirely possible, but given the prospective 'favour' from earlier, Jenkins was betting on the second one.

"Are you quite alright?" he asked, eyeing Flynn carefully. "You're being very patient over there, and from a Librarian, that's more than a little alarming."

Flynn shook his head, hiding his expression behind the rim of his cup. "I can be patient," he protested, rather half-heartedly. "I also happen to like puzzles, at least when they're not actively trying to kill people. I once cracked the Language of the Birds in seven hours, you know."

Jenkins leveraged an incisive stare his way. "I'm sure you did," he agreed, pleasantly. "Doesn't quite explain why you're currently pointing your patience at me and my research, however. Or what you're doing here at all, for that matter. Aren't you supposed to be in Bangladesh with Colonel Baird?"

Flynn shrugged uneasily. "Nah, we got that sorted quickly," he dismissed, looking down at the floor. "Eve got a quick shower and then headed out to France to check on Stone. I'd have gone with her, but she more or less told me to stay put and work out some energy somewhere safe or she'd lock me in the washroom with all the water on cold until I calmed down. She looked a bit ... Lets just say I thought I should listen to the nice lady with the gun before she got annoyed? So. Here I am. Being ... patient."

"Uh-huh," Jenkins said. He looked very sympathetic, he was sure. Not at all worried and/or annoyed. Heavens no. "So, essentially, you decided to go bother someone who did not, currently, have a weapon, and therefore was slightly less likely to shoot you. And that person happened to be me. Would that be correct?"

Flynn tried an encouraging smile. It didn't work particularly well. Jenkins growled under his breath, and then figured hell with it, and growled audibly as well.

"I knew I should have kept that blunderbuss," he muttered, putting his cup delicately on the table. "Pirates, highwaymen, Librarians ... Sometimes you just need a little explosive persuasion, don't you?"

"I prefer _non_ -explosive, myself," Flynn noted hopefully. "And, you know, I did distract you at what turned out to be a good time, didn't I? Extra-dimensional harmonics can have a doozy of an effect. You ought to thank me for the migraine I've saved you." He paused, taking in Jenkins' expression. "Uh. Not so much?"

Jenkins closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did have a headache, that much was true, and Flynn had saved it from being a lot worse. How long that would _last_ was a different question, however. Librarians were not generally conducive to a relaxing day. But. Alright. He could concede the point for the moment. The break had been warranted, and Flynn had been surprisingly agreeable company so far. He could make a few small allowances, he supposed.

"You haven't done too badly," he admitted, dropping his hand to look at the man once again. Flynn did look a little rough around the edges, now that he was focusing. Twitchy, even for him. Perhaps Colonel Baird had had a point. "There was something particular you were hoping for in return, wasn't there? How about we get it out in the open and then I can decide whether I'm helping you or shooting you with whatever happens to be handy, hmm?"

Flynn grinned at him. Instantly, and a lot more than _slightly_ alarmingly. "Actually," he said brightly, holding up the sword he'd left on the table beside him, "you might like it. I mean, it won't be _shooting_ me, but there'll at least be weapons involved, and a decent chance of clobbering me around the head. That counts as incentive, right?"

Jenkins stared at him, for once entirely nonplussed. "... What?" he managed. Eloquently. "I'm sorry. Have you gone briefly insane? Just for my records, you understand ...?"

Flynn stood up. Jenkins did twitch a little bit, because Librarians did tend to be notoriously unstable, increasingly so the longer they lasted, and Flynn had been around for quite a while. Flynn didn't do anything aggressive, though. He actually looked more pleading than anything, and made no effort at all to be shy about it.

"... I need to train," Flynn said, his hands waving around him in agitation, which was a little worrying given the three feet of steel in one of them. He hefted it in demonstration, looking over at Jenkins across it. "I used to ... I did it a lot. Before. You know. Every week, barring apocalypses, and sometimes even then. Me and Cal ... It helped a lot. Working off energy. Being in the Library, with a ... with a friend ..."

"I'm sorry," Jenkins interrupted, and meant it genuinely. He leaned forward, holding the man's gaze honestly. More than many, he had an idea of what Flynn had lost. "I don't know if I said it before, but I'm sorry for your loss. I know he meant a lot to you."

Flynn put the sword down. Gently. His face twisted, his expression doing something very complicated, and his emotions, underneath it, doing something very simple. Something elemental, and eminently familiar. He ducked his head, and nodded quietly.

"He did," he agreed, emptily. "He meant a lot. I ... I forget sometimes. When I go home to the Library. I forget he won't be there. I keep ... I keep thinking ..."

He trailed off, unable to continue, and Jenkins let him be. He gave the man a minute to pull himself back together.

Which Flynn did, with more of a bounce than was probably healthy, but everyone was entitled to their masks in times of stress. Jenkins wasn't so much of a hypocrite as to say otherwise.

"So," Flynn started again, brightly and more firmly. "I've been a bit twitchy lately. Eve is getting ... kind of fed up with it, which I understand, I mean, I get that completely. And my memories are still a little hazy, mostly only bits and pieces, but I was thinking ... I mean. If you are who I think you are, based on those memories and what Eve has told me ... Ah. I was thinking that you were pretty handy with a sword. And I was hoping that maybe you wouldn't mind ...?"

Jenkins blinked at the thought. It was ... It was entirely logical, he had to admit. Flynn had retained at least some memories from the Loom, and had a lot more background knowledge to work with than most. If he'd been working with them from the start, he probably would have caught on to Dulaque's identity a lot quicker. Even aside from Jenkins' own identity, knowing that he'd been able to match that man even briefly would be enough to build a suspicion of his abilities, however eroded they might have become. For a man as desperate as Flynn, it would be more than enough to hang a hope on.

It was flattering. And quite probably very unwise. But it was not, he realised in some surprise, an unattractive prospect. He'd been ... He hadn't had the chance to let loose himself in quite some time. He wouldn't mind the opportunity at all.

"... I'm no Excalibur," he warned carefully. He held Flynn's gaze, trying to convey his earnestness. "Regardless of who I may or may not have been, I can't offer you what he could. I'm not as fit as I used to be, and even if I were some of what he could do is a little more difficult with a body attached. It won't be like it was before. I can't equal him."

Flynn smiled sadly. "No-one can," he said, raising his blade in a delicate salute. "Cal was ... Cal was Cal. But you're in the ballpark, I think. And you are ... well. A colleague, if not a friend? I'm trying not to presume here, I know you're not ... I mean, not with me. But. Ah. What I mean is ..."

Jenkins stood up. Mostly to stop the babbling before Flynn actually did hurt himself, but he made the motion as natural and easy looking as he could. He looked thoughtfully at the man, standing there with his sword held absently in his hand and a warily hopeful expression on his face, and decided that maybe it might be worth it. For a variety of reasons. It might do no harm to help a little where he could, and get a nice bit of exercise out of it in the process.

And, also, a chance to knock the Librarian on his rear a time or two. Honestly, they were very annoying. A tap or two wouldn't hurt.

"... Oh, I think we can say 'friendly acquaintances' at least," he said, smiling faintly. "And I could use the exercise. Though, if I may, I'd like to posit one condition?" At Flynn's wary nod, he let his smile broaden out into a proper grin, happily baring his teeth. "I get to play the bad guy, alright? You can be the white knight, I'll take the villain."

Flynn blinked at him, frowning thoughtfully. He reached up to scratch at his chin, with the hand holding the sword, and Jenkins did flinch a bit. The Librarian ignored that, a slow, curious smile creeping onto his face.

"Are you sure?" Flynn asked, a hint of mischief creeping forward. "I do a passable Rupert of Hentzau, you know. I've got my evil mocking down pat."

Jenkins nodded serenely, moving past him to the umbrella stand they used as a sword rack and choosing himself a nice rapier to match the Librarian's. "I'm sure," he said, taking an experimental swish or two. "I always end up having to be the hero. Just once, I'd like let loose and give an evil cackle or two. It's very stressful being the good guy, you know."

Something flickered in Flynn's eyes. Yes, Jenkins thought. The man did know, didn't he? Though it was hardly surprising. Last a while as a Librarian, you got to know _exactly_ how stressful being the hero could be.

"How about we take turns?" Flynn suggested, pacing out into the clear space between worktables, bouncing eagerly on his toes. He flicked his sword testingly himself. "You can be the villain first, and then I'll take a shot, and so on until we get tired?"

Jenkins made a show of sighing. "Well, if we must," he started, and then let it loose. He grinned, rolling his shoulders testingly. He wasn't wearing the best shoes for this. Not on marble. But he was certain he could at least give a good show of himself. "Where shall we start, Librarian? Rapiers, not broadswords, so we're thinking 16th century upwards. Or shall we take a fictional bent? You mentioned Hentzau a moment ago."

Flynn laughed. It was bright, startled, and very genuine. Jenkins felt a flush of pleasure at that, and found himself mildly bemused by it. But there were perks to being the good guy too, he supposed. There were perks to being willing and able to help when the time called for it. The cheer of a colleague, a friend, was among them.

"Let's save him for later," Flynn said, settling himself into a light guard. "We'll keep Zenda for when it's my turn to be the villain. What about you? Who do you want to be? You kind of strike me as a Basil Rathbone sort of villain ..."

Jenkins raised an eyebrow. "Making you Errol Flynn?" he asked, and shook his head. "Come now. You may share a name, but for someone trained by Excalibur? I think we can do better than that."

Flynn grinned. "How about Danny Kaye?" he asked, slashing his sword frenetically from side to side. "How about it, Ravenhurst? Shall we see who's the greatest with a blade?"

The Court Jester. Not a bad match, Jenkins thought, watching the vibrating tension still running through the man, the frenetic humour being used to cover it. No, not a bad match indeed. Well, alright then.

"Try to keep up, Librarian," he said, moving fluidly into range and tapping his sword gently against Flynn's. "And do try to stay off the furniture? I need my Annex in one piece when we're done."

Flynn snorted agreeably. "For the moment," he said. "But if we get up to Scaramouche, I'm making no promises. I always wanted to try that stair leap, and we have a balcony right up there to work with."

Jenkins curled his lip. "You have to survive Ravenhurst first. You won't be doing any leaping if you're too exhausted to make it up the stairs. And speaking of which ..."

He lunged. Villains always got to strike first. It was that, more than anything else, that he had always envied about them. Where everyone else had to scramble to catch up, to defend, to hide, to escape, the villain simply got to strike, and keep striking, until something finished them or everything faded before them. So when the chance came, when there was someone he could trust not to fall before it ... it was rather nice, really, to get to strike the first blow, and not have to worry about the consequences of it.

When Flynn laughed, and parried high, and bounced back with an eager light in his eyes, Jenkins did have to concede the point altogether. Annoying or not, grieving or not, the Librarian had actually hit on something that benefited them both, and was a good idea for both their sakes. He listened to the clash of the rapiers, watched the delight in his opponent's eyes, and felt his body loosen out into an ease of motion that he hadn't felt in far too long. 

This was, he did have to admit, a rather worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. Maybe even worthwhile enough to become a regular event. He was no Excalibur, certainly. There had been a time, though, when he'd been among the greatest swordsmen in one of the greatest courts in the world. It did no harm to remember that once in a while.

And no harm whatsoever ... to remind someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the Lemarchand boxes are a Hellraiser reference. I haven't even read the books/seen the movies, but if you want a magical puzzle box, apparently Clive Barker is your man. For the play fights, Flynn and Jenkins are referencing, in order, 'The Prisoner of Zenda', any number of Errol Flynn/Basil Rathbone movies but I'm thinking 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' particularly, then 'The Court Jester' and 1952's 'Scaramouche' and its famous final duel. I'm not sure if Jenkins even watches movies, or Flynn for that matter, but I thought why not? Given his namesake and the amount of Flynning involved in all his sword fights, Flynn at least ought to have enjoyed a few swashbucklers. Heh.


End file.
